“To arms, all of you! There is a traitor in the camp, I’ll swear.” “Hold!” The word was echoed from a dozen different points of that enormous room, and instantly the drapery was swept aside from as many places, and from each entrance emerged five or six stalwart men, with pistols cocked, and otherwise armed to the teeth. Every smuggler stood mute and terror-stricken; they saw at once the fearful odds against them, and knew that resistance would be useless. In sullen silence they awaited the result of this fearful and unexpected interruption of their wedding gayeties. “Edgerton, place your men in position, and shoot the first man that moves or resists,” commanded Fredrich Weimher, in a clear, ringing tone. Ronald Edgerton and about twenty-five men filed along at one end of the room, and at a word of command from him each raised his weapon, and held it ready for action. The smugglers gazed in terror around, but every entrance had an armed sentinel, and not a chance of escape was possible. “Forward and bind these villains, every one of them!” shouted Fredrich, and boldly springing forward to lead the attack. The scene which followed was exciting beyond description. Those great lawless men, who for years had fearlessly roamed the world at large, committing their crimes, and the most daring acts conceivable—who were a terror and a dread to all who knew of their existence—were now rendered powerless in a single instant. The fame of an artist, who could have faithfully transferred to his canvas that brilliant, gorgeous room, with its strange and excited occupants, would forever have been established, and his praises sung throughout the world. See them! That company of conquerors, with their flushed, eager faces, weapons raised and aimed at the hearts of the baffled villains, Fredrich Weimher’s men, with coils of stout cord in their hands, and in the act of springing forward to bind their helpless foes. The smugglers, with their sullen, terror-pale faces, their confused and faltering manner, gazing half beseechingly, half menacingly at their hitherto infallible chief, who, with white and foaming lips, frantic eyes, despairing mien, stood stunned and dismayed before them. While on one side were the beautiful maidens, huddled together, shivering and gazing with a sort of horrible fascination upon the scene before them, though in their faces one might read of hopeful hearts beating beneath their colorless features. Opposite this group, and seated upon the floor of the altar, was Madame Alroyd, holding the senseless bride clasped in her trembling arms, while Ralph, the clergyman, and Nina were bending anxiously over them, and applying restoratives. Last, but not least, was the astonished squire, who stood with his gray locks streaming back, his eyes protruding from their sockets, his face shrunken and livid with fear and rage, while his hands worked backward and forward, and his whole attitude betraying uncertainty and doubt.